Emberling
by thenerdnextdoor
Summary: For too long Stars have avoided interfering with the events of the worlds they watch over. When Middle Earth begins to approach the war that will decide its fate, one Star sends down someone to give their aid and see that Middle Earth will live on in peace. Taking on the form of an Elf, this Emberling embarks on a journey that might just change her life, and what she calls home.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so when I was in Portugal I brought a notepad with me and started writing a lot. This LOTR story began, and an Assassin's Creed one, and a few other ideas popped into my head; but I think I'll just post the most substantial stories just now and see how they're received.**

**So here's a Legolas/OC story, and hopefully it won't be as typical as any others you might have read. I'll post the second chapter as well just to give a bigger taster of what this story is going to be like, and I welcome all feedback.**

**Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything to do with Lord of the Rings.**

* * *

Stars, the eldest of all beings belonging to the world of Middle Earth, and any other world existing. They have been here since the beginning of the beginning. For many, many long and uneventful years, they watched the empty lands and the basic creatures who inhabited them. Until, finally, the Elves came. They saw fit to name the Stars, asigning them stories full of bravery, courage, love and peace. The Stars heeded these names, finding them and their meanings to have given them depth and significance. They adopted the names and, slowly but certainly, they adapted into the beings they are today.

In their kingdom, they are figures without an outline - pure white glows floating like a sphere of radiant light, surrounded by a white cloud-like substance. They communicate via thoughts and emotions, when the Sun is high and they need not linger in their Starposts. These are the areas in which one shall always see a specific Star, watching over them - it is the area of the sky that belings to a Star. Many Stars occupy a place in the sky; but there are even more of them than can be seen. You see, like most creatures, Stars have children.

These children are called Emberlings, and they only have one parent, one Star to which they belong. The Emberlings are not as powerful as the Stars, and they do not have Starposts of their own, even if some of them were created before the Elves came to Middle Earth. Instead, when an Emberling wishes to watch over the worlds, they must gain permission from their parent to join them in their Starpost. When they are not sitting at their parent's sides, they might be found wandering their kingdom with other Emberlings, or they might - very rarely - be found upon the worlds over which their parent watches, walking among the Creatures of Land. Few Emberlings travel to the worlds without a purpose - whether it is to observe and report, to give aid (although no Emberling has given their aid in many an age) or to merely explore a curiosity.

The events in Middle Earth - those that seemed so important and fate-changing to its people - meant little to the Stars, for there were many other worlds in which other equally ground-shattering events were occuring. However, one Star in particular had found something in Middle Earth interesting enough to hold his attention. This Star's name was Baramaethor the Warrior.

The Elves said that Baramaethor was a courageous and mighty warrior, and had played a vital role in the Stars' battle to win the Night Sky. This battle was named the War of Light by the Elves, and many songs and poems and stories sprung from its name, even though there had been no such thing. But the Stars did not mind, for they were pleased that the Elves admired them so. The majority of the mortals of Middle Earth knew atleast the names of the Stars; but few were as attached to them as the Elves.

It was in this minority that Baramaethor's attention was caught, on one mortal in particular, one man. All Stars knew that Middle Earth's most important event had yet to occur, and they knew it was coming soon, for they had seen the power grow in Mordor. Baramaethor was one of the few Stars who properly paid attention to the events of the worlds, and so he had been watching Middle Earth for the many years leading up to this mighty event. He had been watching this mortal, this man, since he was born, for Baramaethor knew this man's fate would take him into the heart of this event, and he would play a vital role in it and the years to come - if fate would have him survive.

This man was Aragorn son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir, and heir to the throne of Gondor. It had been many years since Baramaethor had seen a soul like Aragorn's, and he had been instantly intrigued. The Man was skilled, more skilled than other Men, and had a noble and strong heart. He was courageous, humble, brave and venerable. Baramaethor wished for Aragorn to step up and claim his title, to become the King of Gondor, and bring peace and order to Middle Earth.

If he could, Baramaethor would travel to Middle Earth so that he could lend his aid, so strong was his will, and ensure that Aragorn would be crowned King. However, he was one of the First - he had a Starpost to attend - and therefore he could not go.

There was one thing he could do, though. Baramaethor had three Emberlings, a daughter and two sons: Maethoriel, the daughter; Beriadan, the first son; and Bregolien, the second son. Out of the three, he knew one would fulfil his wish. Beriadan was on another world elsewhere; and Bregolien did not share his interest in Middle Earth - he enjoyed watching over other worlds in which life was just beginning rather than "opening a story half way through the book", as he said. That left Maethoriel, Baramaethor's only daughter.

Stars do not have such a strong attachment to their Emberlings as most parents have to their child; but they do feel some sentiment. Baramaethor felt a pinch of reluctance towards risking his one daughter in such a way; but he knew that Maethoriel was a brave and capable warrior, and he felt content with his final decision. Now all that was left was the question of whether she would agree or not.

* * *

Maethoriel could feel her father's conscious around her, and she parted from her friends to engage with him. "Father," she greeted.

"Maethoriel," he replied. His conscious had always felt strong and empowering to Maethoriel; but it was not overwhelming, thankfully. "I must speak with you. It is of vital importance to me."

"I will come now," she said. Feeling his conscious pull away from hers, she excused herself from the group of Emberlings waiting on her and glided to her father's Starpost. The kingdom of the Stars was usally a peaceful and comforting grey colour; but the Starposts were a dark black, as they were part of the Night Sky.

In the middle of this darkness floated her father, Baramaethor the Warrior, his glow stronger and brighter while he fulfilled his role. "Come, Emberling," he beckoned. She went to his side, and saw what he was focused on: a man was walking through thick underbrush, looking cautiously at his surroundings. Behind him walked four small creatures, the like of which Maethoriel had not seen before. A great evil seemed to hover over them, weighing down on one of the small creature's heart more so than the rest. They led beside them a plump pony that carried most of their supplies, the rest of which was divided between the travellers.

"That is Aragorn son of Arathorn, is it not?" She asked her father.

She felt the spark of pride that she ignited in her father as he answered: "Yes, Maethoriel, it is him."

"But who travels with him? I have never seen their kind before."

"That is because they have not been of much importance for many years. Do you remember the story I told you of Bilbo Baggins, the Hobbit that travelled with Dwarves and Wizards and fought alongside Elves and Men - the one that confronted Smaug the Dragon and Gollum, from whom he stole the One Ring?"

It took Maethoriel a moment, for her father told many stories. Then, finally: "Yes, I remember."

"The one bearing the evil burden," her father started, and she looked to the small creature with dark brown hair and the heaviest heart, "He is Frodo Baggins, Bilbo's nephew."

"So these four creatures are Hobbits?"

"Yes. Frodo now carries the Ring and, with the help of Aragorn, is taking it to Rivendell. Lord Elrond is already preparing for a Council that shall ultimately decide the Fate of Middle Earth." Maethoriel knew of Middle Earth's past and of the significance of the One Ring. She knew enough to quickly grasp how serious the situation was. "Maethoriel, Middle Earth is the world I have spent longest watching. I wish for it to continue." He pasued for a moment. "I ask of you, daughter, to do what I cannot. I ask you to go to Middle Earth and give the good people walking its lands your help. I ask you to ensure Aragorn's survival and his place as King of Gondor. I ask you to ensure the destruction of the One Ring, so that he may rule in peace."

Maethoriel was silent for a while, even though she had long known her answer. "Father, how can I ensure Aragorn's survival as well as the destruction of the Ring?"

"I think that Aragorn, if he does not volunteer himself to be the Ring-Bearer, will accompany that who does to Mordor."

"I see."

"Will you do this, Maethoriel, for me?"

"You know I share the same love for Middle Earth," she replied. "And I wish to see Aragorn crowned King as much as you do, father. Of course I will lend my aid, wherever I can."

Never before had she felt her father so relieved. He conveyed all the gratitude he felt towards her, and in reply she said: "It would be an honour to walk amongst those who shall be remembered for the years to come, for Middle Earth shall live on, father, and evil shall be wiped from its lands, I promise you, even if it means the death of me."

In the kingdom of the Stars, they and Emberlings alike would never perish; but if they were to take on the appearance of a Creature of Land upon one of the worlds, they were susceptible to death.


	2. Chapter 2

**And here's the second chapter to give you a bigger taster of the story. Just so you know, I'll be using the movie world as the main base for this story; but I am going to integrate certain parts of the book in as well.**

**Again, I welcome any feedback.**

**Enjoy the second chapter.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything to do with Lord of the Rings.**

* * *

For three days Baramaethor explained things further to Maethoriel, and she listened while training with her brother, to make sure her fighting skills had not left her.

Now she floated in the Startravel room, looking towards Middle Earth. This room was where Emberlings came to begin their journey to a World, and was as dark as the Starposts. Behind her floated her brother, Bregolien, who had come in their father's place, as Stars could not enter the Startravel room, despite the name. "Remember, father will be watching over you," Bregolien said.

"I know," replied Maethoriel, her determination to make her father proud burning in the depths of her heart.

"Good luck, little sister, and be safe."

"Farewell, Bregolien. May we meet again." She moved forwards into the darkness, and was suddenly thrust outwards at an immense speed. Burning heat surrounded her, but did not touch her, as she tore through the Night Sky towards Middle Earth.

* * *

Lord Elrond stood at the side of Gandalf the Grey as they looked out into the evening life of Rivendell from a balcony high up. Early that afternoon, Frodo Baggins, the Ring-Bearer, had finally awoken. Lord Elrond had decided that he deserved a day to relax, speak with his companions, reunite with his uncle, and explore Rivendell before the Council, which was to be held in the morning.

Many had arrived that day: Dwarves, Men, and Elves from other regions. Most noteworthy were Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm, Gloin and his son Gimli, and Boromir son of Denethor, from Gondor. Elrond hoped that for once the different species - the Elves and Dwarves particularly - would be able to get on well enough that arguments would not break out; but he knew it would most likely happen anyway.

Behind them, Gandalf and Elrond heard the faint swishing sound of Elvish clothing, and then a majestic voice spoke, with a strange edge to it. "Pardon me, Lord Elrond, for interrupting; but there is something you and Gandalf must see." The Elf had a slightly flustered appearance, which was unusual and unsettling.

Elrond wondered if a quarrel between Dwarves and Elves had been started already. "What is it?" he asked curiously.

"A Star," the Elf replied. "A Star is falling!"

Elrond's eyebrows rose in surprise, for it had been many an age since a Star wandered Middle Earth. The corner of Gandalf's mouth twitched and he said as if to himself: "This will certainly make things more interesting."

Elrond swept off the balcony after the Elf, with Gandalf following behind, moving swiftly through Rivendell towards the courtyard. In it was stood a few of Rivendell's inhabitants, and most of those staying for the Coucil. Elrond and Gandalf moved between the crowd to stand at the front, all necks craned backwards to watch the bright white light hurtle towards the ground.

After a few minutes, the light was close. It was a radiant glow that cast its light around the land for miles, with tendrils of smoke following behind it like a white shadow. It became apparent that there was a high chance of the Star landing on them, so the crowd moved back until there were two rows of onlookers lined up against the perimeter of the courtyard. Then, finally, the Star landed.

It hit the ground with a sound like a strong wind, and the light and smoke circled up and around to form a tall, narrow wall of white. In the midst of the smoke they could make out a blindingly light figure, tall and slender and radiating a white glow. The smoke then seemed to be drawn towards the figure, and as it was absorbed, the light died down. The white figure gained features: pitch black hair and beautiful emerald eyes; a slim, curvy, and lean body; strong cheekbones and a smooth jawline; lightly tanned skin, unblemished and flawless, with an underlying faint glow; plump pink lips; and the pointed ears of an Elf. The Star wore black leggings tucked into dark brown boots that hugged her calves up to her knees, made of supple leather, and a deep grey tunic over a dulled silver shirt. She had a brown leather belt secured around her waist, from which hung a tomahawk on her right side and a short, curved dagger on her left. On her forearms were leather bracers lined with metal edges, and on her shoulders sat a cloak of Earth-brown colour. Over one shoulder the tip of a bow could be seen, while over the other there were the feathers of arrows. The Star was overall incredibly beautiful and delicate; but she seemed also fierce and warrior-like at the same time. It was a few moments before anyone found their voice.

"A Star," the voice breathed in awe. It was Samwise Gamgee, Frodo's loyal gardner. He blushed instantly, realising he had spoken aloud.

The Star smiled and parted her lips to speak; and when she did, the courtyard felt as though they had never heard something so soft and yet so powerful. The elves finally discovered what the mortals felt like when they saw and heard an elf, and the men, dwarves, hobbits and wizard felt more affected than ever before.

* * *

Maethoriel smiled at the Hobbit, remembering his name from when her father explained the situation more to her. "I am afraid that I am not a Star, Samwise Gamgee; but, rather, an Emberling - the child of a Star." The crowd around her seemed to become even more quiet - if that was possible - while she spoke, as if they were afraid that even the tiniest of sounds would overlap her voice and prevent them from hearing it. The thought flattered her; but she was not used to that kind of reaction, and suddenly felt slightly uncomfortable. She looked to Lord Elrond and found him standing next to Gandalf. Then, bowing her head respectfully, she said: "I am Maethoriel, daughter of Baramaethor the Warrior. I come to seek a place in your Council, if you will have me, Lord Elrond."

He smiled warmly and opened his arms. "Your presence is most welcome, Maethoriel daughter of Baramaethor. You may stay here as long as you wish, for you have truly brightened the world with your arrival."

Maethoriel smiled again, and bowed her head in thanks. Her emerald gaze took in her surroundings, the flickering orange glow from the torches and candles around and within the buildings creating a warm and cosy atmosphere. She felt a light breeze tickle her skin and lift her black hair as the smell of nature and good food met her nose. Her sensitive Elf ears picked up merry singing and laughter on the other side of Rivendell, and she felt content. "Your home is certainly more beautiful down here than from my father's position in the Night Sky," she told Elrond honestly. "It gives me great pleasure to be here, for it has been a wish of mine for many a year."

"And it had been a wish of mine to gaze upon a Star standing before me ever since I learned it was possible; but never did I expect my wish to be granted," he replied.

"Technically your wish has not been granted," she reminded him, smiling. She would be patient with the Creatures of Land on the matter of Emberlings, because she knew that it had not been something they had created nor suspected, even.

"Yes, I suppose you are right," Elrond smiled back. "But enough with technicalities - are you hungry? Thristy? In need of a good sleep, perhaps?"

"Sleep is something I shall need to grow accustomed to," she said. "And so is food and drink. For now, I shall be content enough to speak and listen with the Elves of Rivendell and the guests of Lord Elrond, thank you."

"If you do not mind, Maethoriel daughter of Baramaethor, I have some questions for you," Gandalf spoke up, stepping forward.

Maethoriel smiled. "Of course, Gandalf. It would be my pleasure."

* * *

The crowd moved back into Elrond's hall - the Hall of Fire more specifically - and gathered every chair they could find. Many pulled their seat closer towards the fire, where Lord Elrond, Gandalf, and Maethoriel sat. "We had better start with your questions, Gandalf," she said, leaning back in her seat with her hands on the armrests in a comfortable fashion. Her ankles were crossed underneath her knees and her long black hair was split into two sections over her shoulders. The glow of the fire could be seen reflected in her emerald eyes.

Gandalf nodded and brought out a long pipe. He lit it and took in a breath, letting the smoke come spilling gracefully from his lips before he spoke. "First, what brings a Star -or, rather, an Emberling, I believe - to Middle Earth?" He asked, his tone polite and curious, his expression and gaze friendly.

Maethoriel nodded approvingly at his choice of question. "Middle Earth is the source of great interest for myself and my father. Usually Stars and Emberlings alike do not interfere with the doings of worlds, for it is not our place; but it has been long since an event of this scale has occured. We know that there are many great battles to come, and they will be dangerous and may turn out poorly for the good people; but my father felt that he could not sit idle and watch this time, without giving any aid. So he asked me to come here and offer what help I could, so I have, and now I am offering my help - which I will give whether it is welcome or not."

"I am afraid we need all the help we can get," Gandalf replied, "But your assistance would be welcomed warmly even if we had enough to defeat the Enemy overnight." Maethoriel smiled at him, and he returned the gesture. "But enough with talk of war and battle, there will be plenty of time for that tomorrow. My second question is this: why is it that you appear to be an Elf?"

"When Emberlings travel to a world - for only they can, Stars are unable to leave their post - we must take on a form. It can be any being specific to that world, and more often than not, we choose the being best suited for our purpose. In my case, an Elf is what would suit me best, and so I have become one."

"Fascinating," he commented, smiling in wonder. "You are saying that, if you wished, you could have taken the form of, say... a hobbit? Or an orc?"

"Or even a wizard," Maethoriel added, nodding.

"Why did you not choose a wizard?" Elrond asked.

Maethoriel contemplated how to word her answer. "I came here to help; but not to be one of the most important figures in Middle Earth's history. I do not want to alter the course that this world would have taken had I not interfered, so I chose a form that seemed... explainable. There are many Elves in Middle Earth still, and it would not have been ridiculous for another to join the upcoming war. But for another wizard to suddenly appear - it just seemed too outlandish."

"So are you saying you will only help us as much as your Elf form can allow?"

She knew what he meant. "I know things that could help you; but if you are to come out victorious, in the end, it must be genuine - as if an Emberling had not been there to help; but rather another Elf."

There were a few quiet murmurs and whispers exchanged between those in the crowd, while Gandalf and Elrond watched her thoughtfully. Then Gandalf spoke. "I am sure, had I been in your place, I would have taken the same approach, Maethoriel. In my opinion, whether the others share it or not, the mere thought that a Star enjoys watching Middle Earth so much that he has sent down his own child to ensure its survival is enough." Elrond nodded in agreement, as did several in the crowd. Gandalf smiled warmly. "I have no more questions, for now. Do you have any of your own you wish to ask of any of us?"

"Only that I may be excused to explore more of Rivendell - I have a sudden desire to do so, if I may?" Maethoriel smiled.

"Of course," Elrond consented. "Go where you please. When you are finished, return here. If we have retired for the night I will see to it that an elf waits to show you to a room."

"My thanks, Lord Elrond," Maethoriel said sincerely as she stood. She walked around the edge of the crowd and caught the gaze of one member in particular. He was sat next to the hobbits he had been leading; but he appeared less rugged and rough. She sent the hobbits a smile before bowing her head respectfully to Aragorn, holding his gaze meaningfully. She then left the hall and stood in the middle of the courtyard outside, staring up at her father.

"Your father must treasure our world if he has sent his own child down, Maethoriel daughter of Baramaethor," he said as he came to stand next to her, his hands clasped behind his back. He too looked up at her father.

"Very much so," she replied. "For many reasons. One of these reasons is a man. My father respects him very much, so much that he asked me to ensure his survival."

Aragorn lifted his chin and took in a deep breath. "And who might this man be?" There was something in his voice that told Maethoriel he had already guessed the answer.

She smiled as she glanced to him. "It is you, Aragorn son of Arathorn. My father has watched over you since you were born. He admires your bravery and courage and loyalty - he claims he hasn't seen a soul like yours in many a long year."

"It is an honour to be thought of as such by one so wise and eternal. Surely there are others elsewhere more worthy of his attention."

Maethoriel studied his face for a moment, seeing the doubt in his eyes. "My father would have respected you even if you were not who you are," she claimed. "Your title means little in terms of his admiration; but he does wish to see your fate fulfilled." She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he looked down at her. "Whenever you doubt yourself, look up at where my father lies and remember the words I have spoken. You do not give yourself enough credit, I think."

He opened his mouth to reply; but someone beat him to it. "I don't mean to interrupt - and I apologise deeply if I have - but I was wondering if I might be able to speak with Maethoriel?" The two turned to find none other than Bilbo Baggins standing behind them. Maethoriel smiled kindly and Aragorn smiled fondly. "You see, I'm writing a book, and I would like to have something substantial about one so rare and important in it."

Maethoriel looked to Aragorn, and he grinned. "Of course, my friend. I am needed elsewhere, anyway."

A knowing glint sparked in Bilbo's eyes; but he said nothing more than: "You have my thanks, Dúnadan."

Aragorn walked off down a secluded path and Bilbo approached Maethoriel, smiling in wonder. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Bilbo Baggins," she said honestly. "Have you anything in particular you wish to speak with me about?"

And so, for the next few hours as the sun dipped below the horizon, Maethoriel walked the many paths of Rivendell with Bilbo, listening to him recount his adventures, both old and new; and she spoke of her kingdom and all the different Stars they could see. She enjoyed the old hobbit's company, and found herself quickly growing fond of him.

When they finally returned to the hall, she bid Bilbo farewell until the next morning, and followed an elf towards the room she had been allocated. It was a beautiful room, with smooth wooden furniture and a large bed with soft covers and plush cushions. An empty archway led out onto a large balcony which gave her a good view of a large section of Rivendell and the valley that surrounded it.

She looked up at the Night Sky and smiled towards her father. "Tomorrow I shall make sure I chose the correct path," she said quietly, knowing that he was probably watching her. "And I shall follow it until whatever end."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the** **favourites and the follows, guys, I really appreciate it!**

**And LadyCurry: thank you so so much, I'm really happy you like it so much! Your review is very encouraging and lovely and aw thank you. Also, there may or may not be a Legomance here *winkwinknudgenudgecopiesyourhappygrin***

**Here's the next installment! Enjoy.**

**DISCLAIMER: Same shit, different day - I own nothing.**

* * *

The next morning Maethoriel went with Aragorn to the Council. The meeting place was a secluded porch at the back of Elrond's house, situated near enough to the river that the constant sound of bubbling water met their ears, accompanied by other bird songs and the wind brushing through the nearby trees. The sunlight shone down upon the porch, illuminating it in a warm and comforting glow; but the atmosphere was bound to change when the Council began.

Elrond sat in a large throne-like chair behind a stone table, a few Elves on his sides, with a roof of autumn leaves above them. In front of the table, seats were laid out in a semi-circle, following the curve of the edge of the porch. Aragorn went to sit on the right with other Men, and Maethoriel went to the left side to sit at the end next to Bilbo. Between her and Aragorn sat the Dwarves, Elves, Gandalf, Frodo, and Bilbo.

Bilbo was quick to greet Maethoriel warmly, and then introduced her to Frodo - who seemed a little awestruck among such a variety of 'Big Folk'. Maethoriel both pitied and admired the young hobbit, for having to go through such danger with little knowledge of what he was up against. And to have suffered such a life-threatening wound, only to display a level of willpower few Men could rival, was truly extraordinary. However, Maethoriel had a feeling that his journey was not yet over.

Allowing her gaze to pass over the members of the Council, she noticed that most were already looking at her, and they quickly averted their eyes whenever she caught them watching. One of them, although having been caught watching already, pleasantly surprised Maethoriel when he did not look away. Instead he offered her a respectful tip of his head and a smile. He had long, straight, golden hair that seemed to glow in the sunlight, and bright, clear blue eyes. His skin was pale and unblemished sitting upon high cheekbones, and his figure seemed to be tall and lean. He was clothed in a shimmering silver cloak and dark trousers tucked into dark, high boots. Maethoriel knew who he was: Prince Legolas, son of King Thranduil. She had often watched over him as he learned to use his bow, with which he was now one. He had been so graceful and talented with the weapon that she had taken to training in that area - it was why she had a bow and arrow of her own back in her room.

She returned his gesture, bowing her head respectfully to him with the corners of her lips lifting into a pleased smile. She was glad that someone in the Council other than Aragorn and Bilbo seemed comfortable with her and willing to approach her. Bilbo seemed to have noticed the exchange and tapped her arm, leaning in closer. "Do you know that elf?" he asked.

"I know of him," she replied quietly. "But I have not spoken to him yet. Why do you ask?"

Bilbo smiled secretively and said, "Oh, no reason." Maethoriel looked at him suspiciously, unable to suppress her amused smile. He noticed and grinned at her. "He seems to like you."

Maethoriel shook her head with a small chuckle. "He does not know me, Bilbo."

"That doesn't mean he cannot be interested in you," he replied. He glanced away for a millisecond. "He's still looking at you now."

"Many of the Council have been watching me, my friend," she said. "You forget how rare it is for an Emberling to visit a world."

Bilbo left the subject alone, although he muttered something under his breath about being stubborn and oblivious. Maethoriel smiled in amusement, paying no heed to his words; but when she looked up, she did notice that Legolas was gazing at her still.

Elrond stood then, now that all had arrived, and the Council went quiet as all attention was focused on him. "Strangers of distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction, none can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." He paused for a moment, looking at all of those seated around him individually. "I am aware that most of you are unfamiliar with the entire history of the Ring, and so this tale shall be told from the beginning even to this present. And I will begin the tale, though others shall end it."

The Council listened attentively to the making and history of the Ring, and Maethoriel noticed that some seemed to be learning more about the evil hung around Frodo's neck. Although she knew the Ring's history, having seen it unfold, she too listened with interest, for it was a good tale, despite the gloomy atmosphere. After Elrond had finished, Boromir took the opportunity to speak of his city's troubles.

"Give me leave, Master Elrond," he began, "first to say more of Gondor, where I come from. For few, I deem, know of our deeds." He stood and looked around the Council with wide, enthusiastic eyes full of passion for his people and his city. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of _our _people are _your _lands kept safe. Only from Rohan now will any men ride to us when we call. The enemy has driven us from Osgiliath, and although they had more in numbers than us, that was not how we were defeated. A power was there that we have not felt before. Some said that it could be seen, like a great black horseman, a dark shadow under the moon. Wherever he came a madness filled our foes, but fear fell on our boldest, so that horse and man gave way and fled."

Maethoriel noticed Frodo stiffen in the corner of her eye, and she knew that he had figured out what power Boromir was speaking of. The Black Riders, the Ringwraiths, the Nazgûl - terrible and dangerous, and very powerful.

"A hundred and ten days I have journeyed all alone," Boromir continued. "I come to ask for counsel and the unravelling of hard words. For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep; and afterwards a like dream came often to him again, and once to me. In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and I heard a voice crying:

_Seek for the Sword that was broken:_

_In Imladris it dwells;_

_There shall be counsels taken_

_Stronger than Morgul-spells._

_There shall be shown a token_

_That Doom is near at hand,_

_For Isildur's Bane shall waken,_

_And the Halfling forth shall stand._

Of these words we could undersand little, and long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay."

Aragorn stood then, walking towards the table in front of Elrond. "And here in the house of Elrond more shall be made clear to you," he said. He brought out the sword and placed it on the table in fragmented pieces. "Here is the Sword that was Broken!"

"And what does a Ranger have to do with Minas Tirith?" Boromir asked, an underlying hint of hostility in his tone.

"This is no mere Ranger," Legolas stood, glaring at Boromir challengingly. "He is Aragorn son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Boromir looked back at the rugged man. "Aragorn? _This_ is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor."

"Then it belongs to you, and not to me at all!" Frodo suddenly exclaimed, jumping up.

"It does not belong to either of us," Aragorn said. "The Ring answers to Sauron alone."

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo," Elrond said, sweeping his arm towards the table as the two men sat down again.

The little hobbit took out the Ring and gently placed it upon the table - although Maethoriel noticed with worry that he seemed reluctant to do so - before he sat heavily in his chair.

Boromir gazed at the golden Ring in wonder and amazement. "The Halfling," he muttered. "Is the Doom of Minas Tirith come at last, then?"

"The words were not 'the doom of Minas Tirith'," Aragorn reminded him. "But doom and great deeds are indeed at hand."

Boromir suddenly looked as if he had thought of the greatest plan. "A doom that could be prevented," he said, standing once more. "Why not _use_ the Ring? Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy, let us use it against him!"

Gandalf stood then, holding his staff and his hand high as he chanted in a foul language. "Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul." A darkness had overcome the warmth in Rivendell, and far off there was the sound of rolling thunder. Elrond and the other Elves seemed pained by the words, while the others felt a great sense of foreboding. Maethoriel felt her heart sink; but she was not as badly affected as the others, because she had heard the language spoken often before. Boromir sat with a startled expression, as the whispers emanating from the Ring faded away.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris," Elrond said, with an edge of irritation and exhaustion.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elond," Gandalf said, seemingly weary now. "For the black speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West. The Ring is altogether evil," he finished, looking specifically at Boromir. He stood staring then at the Ring. "Those were the words I found when I burned the Ring. In the Common Tongue they say: One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them." He turned away and sat once more, letting his words sink in.

"We shall continue with the Ring's history," Elrond said, glad to put the language of Mordor behind him.

Gandalf spoke of his journey tracking and interrogating the creature Gollum, with the help of Aragorn and the Elves in Mirkwood, to which Legolas replied that Gollum had managed to escape their hold, and had seemed to have had help. The news was disappointing; but there was not much they could do. And so Gandalf then went on to speak of Saruman's betrayal, which caused many to feel grief and dispair. Frodo claimed to have seen Gandalf when he was stood upon Saruman's tower, just before he was rescued by a mighty eagle.

"Bilbo," Elrond encouraged after Gandalf had finished, "I believe it is time for your part in the history of the Ring."

Bilbo stood and told the Council of his journey, his encounter with Gollum, and how the Ring benefited him in the troubles he faced afterwards. For many this was enlightening, for they had not heard of this 'Bilbo Baggins' nor his adventures with the Dwarves. After Bilbo, Frodo told his part in the story - he seemed less comfortable in front of a crowd than his uncle.

For a while no one spoke, and Elrond's gaze wandered the faces of the Council. When he met Maethoriel's eyes, she nodded. Then he stood. "You have only one choice: the Ring must be destroyed."

"What are we waiting for?" the dwarf, Gimli, asked gruffly as he stood and took up his axe. With a loud battle cry, he stepped forward and brought his weapon down upon the golden Ring. The axe shattered and he was thrown backwards; but the Ring took no damage at all.

Maethoriel, Bilbo and Gandalf all looked to Frodo when he gasped and brought a hand to his forehead. The Ring had taken a hold of him - it was astonishing that he still had the ability to resist its power after being in contact with it for so long.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom - only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence among the Council members. Finally Boromir broke it. "One does not simply walk into Mordor," he said. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is an evil there that does not sleep; the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash, and dust - the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" Legolas snapped, standing again. "The Ring must be destroyed!" he told the Council.

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?" Gimli retorted.

"And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?" Boromir stood, although he was ignored by the other two.

"I would rather die than see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!" Gimli exclaimed, standing.

Most of the Elves - save Elrond and those at his sides - jumped from their seats and began quarreling with the Dwarves, followed closesly by almost every other member of the Council. Maethoriel, Gandalf, Aragorn, and the hobbits stayed seated - until suddenly Gandalf stood too to argue loudly with Boromir. Maethoriel frowned at the chaotic scene before her, knowing fully well that such heated arguments would do nothing to solve their problems.

"Frodo?" she heard Bilbo ask quietly.

Turning to the hobbits, she saw the younger staring fearfully at the Ring, his breathing heavy. Then a determined expression overtook his face, and he looked to those arguing, pushing himself out of his chair. Maethoriel's heart sunk. "I will take it." Her eyes closed, and she listened as the members continued to argue. "I will take it!" he exclaimed louder. The noise died down, and Maethoriel opened her eyes to see everyone turn to look at the hobbit. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," he announced definitely. "Though... I do not know the way."

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, for as long as it is yours to bear," Gandalf said, walking behind the hobbit with a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will," Aragorn said as he strode forwards to kneel by Frodo. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," Legolas added as he too joined Frodo.

"And _my_ axe," Gimli declared roughly, standing by Legolas' side.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one," Boromir said as he walked forward. "If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

Maethoriel stood then, and all eyes turned to her. She walked around the side of the group until she stood before Frodo. "I too shall lend my aid, Frodo son of Drogo, wherever and whenever it is needed. You have my word: I will do everything I can to protect you."

As she went to stand by Aragorn, there was a sudden shout from behind the group. "Hey!" Sam rushed forward, underneath Aragorn's arm, and stood defiantly next to Frodo with his arms crossed. "Mr Frodo's not going anywhere without me," he stated.

"No, indeed, it is hardly possible to seperate you even when he is summoned to a secret Council and you are not," Elrond smiled, causing Sam to blush slightly.

"Oi! We're coming too!" Merry exclaimed as he and Pippin both ran out from behind pillars to stand by their fellow hobbits. "You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!"

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of... mission... quest... thing," Pippin added, nodding to himself.

"Well, that rules you out, Pip," Merry stated.

"Ten companions," Elrond mused. "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Right," Pippin grinned. "Where are we going?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Back again for another chapter. Thank you to the new follows and favourites, everyone. Replies to reviews will be at the bottom of the chapter.**

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* * *

By the time the Council had finished, it was nearing evening. Lord Elrond therefore obviously found it logical to have a feast in honour of the company that very night. As the elves of Rivendell busied themselves with preparing the food and the hall and the entertainment, the guests were allowed to do as they pleased. Frodo and his fellow hobbits went off to Bilbo's room, Gandalf went to speak with Elrond, the dwarves went away to their quarters as did the men, the elves seemed to have disappeared amidst their Rivendell kin, and Maethoriel took to wandering the gardens.

She had seen probably every inch of Middle Earth from her father's Starpost; but to be so close to the features of the land that she could smell and touch them was another thing altogether. Everything seemed brighter and more alive from the ground, and she could spend hours smelling each and every flower, memorising its scent.

The gardens of Rivendell had a multitude of flowers, growing on a large expanse of grass with stone paths winding through it. She followed these paths, walking slowly through them with one forearm outstretched so that her fingers could trail the stems and petals by her side. The chirps of the birds and the sound of the gentle breeze brushing through the trees were like music to her ears; and then there was the singing and laughter of the elves that seemed to be a constant feature of the valley as well. Everything seemed so inexplicably beautiful and happy.

Maethoriel noticed then the sound of footsteps behind her, and she turned to see Elrond, Gandalf, and Aragorn walking along the path in her direction. Unlike her, Elrond and Aragorn did not seem to be acknowledging the happiness around them – instead they seemed rather concerned. Only Gandalf looked as if he shared her contentment. "May we speak to you, Maethoriel?" Elrond asked politely, forcing a smile.

She cocked her head to the side a little and studied them. "You wish to dissuade me," she murmured, a light crease appearing on her forehead.

Aragorn stepped forward then, with a pleading expression. "I understand that your father wishes for my survival, and I am honoured by that; but I do not want your life to be risked to ensure it."

"You are an Emberling, the child of a Star," Elrond added. "Your life is more important than any other who walks these lands."

The crease on Maethoriel's head deepened. "We are not the ones that are courageous and brave, the ones who sacrifice their lives for who they love and what they believe in, the ones who feel pain, anger, despair," she cut herself off, feeling that she was rambling, "We are the ones who _watch_ others experience those things. We only ever _watch_. How can we be more important?" Elrond and Aragorn averted their gazes; but when Maethoriel looked to Gandalf, he smiled. This gave her more confidence in her argument, and she stood up even straighter than before. "Just because you do not see Stars or Emberlings often does not mean that we are superior. There must be hundreds, thousands of us." She walked to Aragorn and put a hand on his shoulder. When he lifted his gaze to her, she smiled encouragingly. "I understand your concern," she said softly, "But there is no need for it. I did not volunteer to join the Fellowship just because I wish to ensure your survival. I was also tasked with ensuring the destruction of the Ring." She looked to the others again. "I told you before that I would give my aid where it was needed, whether it was welcomed or not. I do not regret those words, nor am I taking them back." She took her hand down and lifted her chin proudly. "The Stars are lending aid to those who need it; and though we are not superior to you, it would be wise to accept that aid."

Elrond and Aragorn looked at her in wonder, while Gandalf came forward to stand by her side. "I agree with Maethoriel," he said. "This really doesn't need to be made a big deal. Legolas is a prince, and yet he is allowed to offer his help. Aragorn, you are the heir to the throne of Gondor, and you are also allowed to offer your help. Maethoriel is a daughter of Stars – who, need I remind you, did not actually partake in the battles your songs and stories speak of – so why should she not be able to do the same as the others?" When Elrond and Aragorn said nothing, Gandalf looked to Maethoriel and gave her a subtle wink, which she grinned at in reply.

"My apologies, Maethoriel," Elrond finally spoke. "I only wished to keep you safe."

"I know, Lord Elrond," she smiled. "But there really is no need. It is the people of Middle Earth who need to be kept safe, not I."

The wizard and the elf then took their leave, and Maethoriel walked along the path towards a large, magnificent fountain, Aragorn at her side. They sat on the wall in companionable silence for a long moment while he seemed to ponder what to say. "You need not apologise," Maethoriel told him quietly. "I am sure, if I was in your position, I would have said the same. Even now I act the same as you, because I do not want people to be in awe of me, or feel that I am too important to endanger. To be honest, I'm not used to that kind of attention, and I must say that I am not too fond of it."

Aragorn smiled. "I feel the same. When I was with the hobbits, even though we were in danger, I enjoyed it, because they did not know or care who I was. Even now, they still address me as 'Strider'."

"They are an interesting people," Maethoriel nodded. "I have always enjoyed their personalities."

"They are very surprising," he agreed, chuckling to himself at something he remembered. He seemed to be about to continue when another voice cut in.

"Sorry to interrupt." The voice was soft and yet strong, with a melodic twinge to it – it was the voice of an elf. He came to stand beside Aragorn, and they saw that it was Legolas. "But Lady Arwen asks for you, Aragorn."

"Thank you," he replied. "I will see you both at the feast tonight." With that he stood, bowed his head, and left in search of his love.

Legolas smiled brightly at Maethoriel. "My name is Legolas," he spoke, offering a small bow.

She inclined her head in return, smiling herself. "Maethoriel," she replied, "And I know your name, son of Thranduil."

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to where Aragorn had been sitting.

"Of course."

He sat down and looked to her, and Maethoriel noticed that her eyes were only level with his nose. "I know I should not be surprised or affected by the fact that you know who I am," he said. "I have no doubt that you know who many elves, men and dwarves alike are; but," he paused and smiled again, as if at himself, "That does not stop me from feeling flattered."

She grinned at his ignorance. "You should not disregard the feeling so," she told him, earning a curious look. "I often watched you train with your bow – in fact, I watched you become one with it. And after doing so, I was met with a sudden wish to be the same. It is because of you that I chose to carry that weapon with me while I am here."

He grinned, his blue eyes flashing with delight; but it also seemed that he was holding himself back. "Have you watched others like that?"

"I have only ever paid so much attention to you and to Aragorn," she admitted.

His grin faded as he thought of something more serious; but there was a brightness to his eyes that she knew had not been there before. "You carried more than a bow," he said, "Which means that you must be trained to fight."

She nodded. "Yes. When the Stars were given their names and the stories behind those names, they began to learn what it was they were named for. Baramaethor, for example, trained to be a warrior. Idhrenion, my father's neighbour, learned all that he could about life and the worlds, and watched those who shared the same trait as him: wisdom. An Emberling, however, can choose what area they will learn. Some even choose multiple areas. I chose to be trained as my father did, because I had a thirst for adventure and I knew that, one day, watching others go on adventures would not be enough for me. I knew that I would join one eventually."

Legolas nodded. "How skilled are you? If you do not mind me asking."

She smiled. "I can certainly hold my own in a fight. I have travelled to a world before, accompanying a friend of mine on her quest, and things took a turn for the worse. I was able to protect ourselves and a few innocent bystanders, and then my friend decided to return home."

"After our quest is over, if we manage to destroy the Ring and Middle Earth is freed from evil, will you also return to the sky?" he asked, frowning a little.

The question surprised Maethoriel slightly. She did not see why she would stay on this world – after all, it was not her home. "I do not think any Emberling has never returned to the sky," she said, deepening his frown. "But I _have_ heard of a few that return to their favoured places sometimes."

"How often do they return?"

"Well, it is often in the terms of my people; but not, I think, in the terms of even yours. Why does this sadden you so, my friend?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He smiled. "This is a rare moment," he replied, "I only wish that you could stay. Middle Earth seems a better place with your presence."

She retracted her hand to brush a strand of hair away from her face, which felt strangely warm. "You are imagining it," she told him, unable to hide her smile. It was strange, how she was feeling – before, when she first arrived and all watching seemed in awe of her, she had felt uncomfortable; but, now, though she still felt uncomfortable, it was not an unpleasant feeling. "If our quest _does_ succeed, I have no doubt that there will be many orcs and other evil creatures still hiding. They will need taking care of, and – if I have survived until then – I will aid those who hunt them."

Legolas seemed disturbed by the possibility that she might not survive. "I will ensure that you live to see this quest completed, Maethoriel," he told her with determination, "Even if it means the death of me."

She frowned and looked up at him quickly. "No, Legolas. You will treat me as if I were another elf. I do not wish for special treatment."

His face softened. "But you deserve it." Her frown deepened and she opened her mouth to retaliate; but he spoke before she could. "Not only because of what you are." A soft warmth covered Maethoriel's hand, and she looked down to see his own envelop it. She could not tear her eyes away from the foreign gesture, wondering at the strange feeling in her chest, until he spoke again. "Not even the Lady Galadriel can rival a beauty such as yours," he said, and she looked up at him in surprise.

"This is not my natural form," she retorted quickly.

"No," he agreed, smiling. "But it is the embodiment of your essence, is it not?" She could say nothing, so she merely nodded mutely, her face feeling warmer than ever. It only got worse when he continued. "Your beauty is too rare, too precious, to be left unguarded."

She stood then, her hand slipping from his grasp, and he followed quickly with a troubled expression. "You have my thanks, son of Thranduil," she said. "And I apologise, but I must take my leave now to prepare for the feast." She bowed her head and walked away before he could say anything more.

She had so many questions, and yet she was reluctant to voice them. Why did it feel nice when he complimented her? Why did her face warm up as it did? And why in the name of the worlds was her heart beating faster than normal?

* * *

Melethainiel, the Star of love, hovered in her Starpost, watching Aragorn and Arwen speak words of adoration to each other. She did not usually look to Middle Earth for love, as the majority of its lands were shrouded in the darkness of evil; but whenever an Emberling travels to a world, most Stars tend to pay more attention to that world, and so Melethainiel was watching Middle Earth along with many of her kind. She realised, having seen the bond Aragorn and Arwen shared, that she would most likely be watching over the Emberling's quest merely to see how the two dealt with the separation, and whether they would be reunited in the end.

This realisation strengthened when she looked to said Emberling, and saw her conversing with another elf. Melethainiel could sense the elf's immediate interest in the Emberling, the immediate attraction – and she could also sense that the Emberling did not feel exactly the opposite. She knew that Maethoriel, had it been someone else in her position, would have seen what Melethainiel could see now: the way that the elf was reluctant to look away from the Emberling's face, and that his skin itched to touch hers. But those kinds of ideas, directed at Maethoriel, were completely foreign to her, and so it would be a long while before she realised them.

Melethainiel suddenly felt the conscience of Baramaethor the Warrior, the father of Maethoriel, and she smiled knowingly. "I can see them, Baramaethor," she said.

"How strong are their feelings?" he asked.

"It is a mere... fascination," she replied, "For now."

She sensed his unease. "Will it get in the way?"

"These feelings may be new to Maethoriel; but she is not unwise. Her priority lies with the tasks you gave her."

"What if the feelings become too strong?"

"Do not doubt your daughter's loyalty to you, my friend. She is capable of handling the two situations if it comes to that."

He was quiet for a long moment. "And if she falls in love? What then?"

Melethainiel watched as a red-faced Emberling quickly walked away from a saddened elf, her body and mind flustered. "Then she will have to make a choice: return to her kingdom and her people; or stay on Middle Earth until whatever end awaits her there."

* * *

Maethoriel had been given a deep, forest-green dress for the feast that night. It was sleeveless, with two thick straps over her shoulders to secure it. The soft material hugged her waist and chest, but became more loose and flowing around her legs. It came to her knees at the front, and lengthened around the back to where it was lightly trailing the ground by her heels. Someone had stitched leaves into the material in a soft silver, creating a subtle pattern. Maethoriel had always admired the beauty of dresses, and, though she did not much like to wear them, she was honoured by the gesture and gladly wore the piece. Her pitch black hair was soft and silky in its naturally curly form, cascading over her back and shoulders. Her slight fringe had been twirled around itself and pinned at the side of her head with an intricate and beautiful piece of light metal.

Bilbo came to collect her, instantly commenting on her "splendid" outfit. He escorted her to the hall where the feast was taking place, and her large emerald eyes darted around the room in attempt to take everything in at once. A long, wooden table sat in the middle of the hall, starting a few paces from the doorway and ending right by the other wall. At least twenty-one seats were positioned around it, the largest and most magnificent being at the head of the table opposite Maethoriel and Bilbo. Around this table were many other smaller ones, where elves had already seated themselves and were talking amiably. The pillars holding the ceiling aloft were carved to look like tree trunks, the tops and bottoms spreading out as if branches and roots were growing from them. Torches sat upon the four walls, lighting the room in a bright atmosphere.

Maethoriel followed Bilbo to half way up the table, where the other hobbits were already seated. He took his place next to Frodo, with Sam next to his nephew, and Maethoriel took the seat opposite next to Merry, with Pippin next to him. They exchanged warm greetings and friendly small talk as the seats in the hall began to fill up. On Bilbo's other side sat Boromir, while on Maethoriel's other side sat Gimli. Next to Boromir went Legolas, Aragorn sat next to Gimli, and beside them came Elrond's sons, then Arwen and Gandalf, then Elrond himself at the head.

The food was glorious, with a seemingly never-ending supply, and the company was even more so. Maethoriel listened and laughed at the antics of Merry and Pippin back in the Shire, and every so often shared a few words with Gimli the dwarf, who turned out to be a differently amusing character. He raved about the Dwarven cities and kingdoms, and Maethoriel told him of how she had seen many of them in their glory days, and how she wished she had visited them. He seemed to be more friendly towards her after that – the fact that she had taken the form of an elf had made him reluctant before.

Aragorn spent a lot of his time either speaking brief, tense words with Boromir, or interacting with the head of the table. He seemed to get along well with the sons of Elrond, and they had many humorous conversations with Legolas, who only spoke with the top of the table. Maethoriel knew that it was either because he did not wish to create more tension by looking down the table where Gimli was sat – and on high alert – or because he felt that their interaction by the fountain ended poorly and he did not wish to address it there. Either way, she felt a mixture of relief and disappointment.

For hours afterwards the hall was alive with chatter and laughter and singing, and Maethoriel could honestly say that she had never had such an experience before. When she finally retired for the evening – though the dark sky was beginning to brighten by that time – she fell asleep with a large, joyful smile on her lips.

* * *

**Thar ya go!**

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**P.S- sometimes when I'm writing how Maethoriel and her people "watch" others on Middle Earth, I feel weird and uncomfortable. It just every so often seems a little stalker-ish, and I really, _really_ hope it doesn't come off like that to you. Though, I wouldn't be surprised if it did now that I've mentioned it... oh well.**

**Peace out homies**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**People, I am so, so sorry for the extremely late update. I've finally finished my other story, just in time to start back at school, so basically I have just as much time to write as I used to. I'm tackling four subjects – three at the second highest level, and English at the highest level – so things are getting a little intense, especially considering this is my last year at school so I'll be looking at uni or college now as well (brb weeping in fear). But I'll be trying my very best to get new chapters out to you all, and keeping them at a high standard.**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter; and remember to review if you have anything to say, or even if you don't! See you on the other side.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything about Lord of the Rings. I only own Maethoriel and her people.**

* * *

Gandalf had come to Maethoriel the day after and informed her of the next stage in their journey. Before the company could set out, scouts had to search the lands for any sign of the Black Riders, to ensure that they would not be hindered at least in the first leg of their journey. Elves were selected for this task – Elrond's own sons among them – and Aragorn would be going too, skilled as they all were in tracking. Maethoriel instantly offered her assistance, supporting her proposal with claims that she needed legitimate practice in battle against their enemies.

"Yes, I think that would be wise, as well," Gandalf nodded thoughtfully. "Although, I am not sure how the others will react."

Maethoriel quietened her voice. "They do not need to know, Gandalf." He stared at her, a light crease appearing between his brows. "How long are the scouts searching for?"

He was silent for a moment. Then, "They will search for however long is necessary."

Maethoriel nodded and looked out over Rivendell from their position on her balcony. The evening sun was casting a pale light into the valley, illuminating the oranges, reds, and golds of the autumn leaves. Elves and guests alike meandered the stone pathways, talking quietly amongst themselves – no doubt about the Fellowship and its task. "I will depart the night before they do," she spoke, "And I will travel alone." She turned to look at Gandalf again. "This might be too much to ask; but may I have your word that you will tell no one of this plan until I have left?"

He smiled, somewhat warily. "Of course. They will not see our logic – not at first, that is – but I will try to convince them as well as I can. At the very least they will send others to persuade you to return; but it is ultimately your choice, and they will not go against you."

"Thank you, Gandalf. Your faith and understanding is refreshing."

"I am faced with the same issues," he replied. "Although not as drastic, I must say."

She nodded. "They must learn to treat me as an equal – for that is all that I am."

* * *

And so, the night before the scouts were set to depart Rivendell and scour the lands, Maethoriel could be seen walking along the paths towards the outside world. Any who saw her thought nothing of it, as they often saw her exploring at night – she had still not become fully accustomed to the prospect of slumber. The fact that she was not wearing her usual emerald outfits, however, did stir a little curiosity. She was instead dressed in the outfit she had arrived in – the deep grey tunic, black leggings, leather boots, and the earth-brown cloak.

When she reached the outskirts of the Elven outpost, her eyes fully capable of sight in the surrounding darkness, she witnessed a grey-cloaked figure step out from the shadows. "Gandalf," she greeted quietly.

He tilted his head in reply, and lifted his arms. A bundle of fabric was illuminated in the dim light casted by the stars and the moon, and the skin of Maethoriel herself. "I brought everything you requested," he told her, lifting the fabric away.

Maethoriel reached out to take her bracers, leather belt, tomahawk and dagger from him. After securing them to her person, she took the bow and arrow he produced from the ground at his feet and attached them to herself as well. "Thank you, Gandalf." As he bowed his head, she turned and looked back at Rivendell, at the soft golden glows of the lanterns, the barely illuminated structures of the trees and the buildings that blended so well into the scenery, and the rare Elves seen silently walking the outpost, oblivious to the fact that one of their most treasured guests was sneaking away.

"May I walk with you to the edge of the valley?" Gandalf asked, barely waiting for her reply before he started forwards.

They walked in silence for a moment, both contemplating seriously. Maethoriel wondered if she was doing the right thing, going off by herself, possibly into the open arms of her enemies whom she had not yet fought. Aragorn and Elrond's fearful protests repeated themselves over and over again in her mind, intent on sparking a flame of doubt within her; but her heart stayed strong and confident – this was the right thing to do. She had to practice her skills against true opponents, in a true battle, without the Fellowship scrambling to protect her and impeding her from defending herself.

Perhaps this would demonstrate her ability to fight, and relieve them of their worry.

"I appreciate your assistance, Gandalf," Maethoriel said, briefly clasping the wizard's shoulder as they neared the edge of the valley.

"I hope that it will not have been in vain," he replied pointedly, "Do make sure that you survive this escapade."

She chuckled as their pace began to slow. "Of course." She sighed, then, and fixed Gandalf with a serious gaze. "Will Aragorn be travelling alone?"

"He will be protected," the wizard assured her. "He is a capable warrior, and has been trapped in dangerous situations before. Do not fear for him."

A thought suddenly popped into her mind. "And what of Legolas? Will he be searching for the Black Riders as well?"

Gandalf eyed her curiously but kept his thoughts to himself. "He is staying." His eyes twinkled as he suppressed an amused smile. "I believe he wished to spend more time with you in Rivendell, before the company left."

Maethoriel felt a slight stab of guilt. "Give him my apologies, if that is true," she said. She then bowed her head to him and said, "Farewell, Gandalf. May we meet again." And she moved to leave.

His hand suddenly gripped her arm, and she turned to him in confusion. "Did you think I would allow you to leave completely alone?" he asked.

Her frown deepened. "You gave me your word that you would tell no one of this," she said, doubting that he would go against it despite the evidence that he might well have.

To her relief, he said, "I stayed true to my word. Give me a moment, and you will understand what I speak of."

She watched his back as he rounded a corner out of sight, pondering what he had arranged for her. How could he have not told someone, and yet be expecting her to not travel alone? Suddenly her face paled and her stomach dropped. "Gandalf, surely you do not wish to come with me?" she exclaimed, startled, after him.

"Of course not," he called back. "I am staying in Rivendell." His figure emerged from the darkness again, although this time he was not alone, and Maethoriel understood what he had meant.

A beautiful black stallion walked at his side, as pitch black as the Night Sky, holding his head high and fixing Maethoriel with a calm gaze. He had on him what she recognised to be tack from Rohan, which brought a confused frown to her face once more. "How did you come by him, Gandalf?" she asked in wonder as the stallion approached her easily. She reached up a hand to stroke his velvety neck, as his face nudged into her shoulder.

"I did not," Gandalf replied with a smile. "He came by me."

Maethoriel paused in her stroking and looked to the wizard. "What do you mean?"

"The day after you arrived, I had a brief amount of time to myself, which I used to walk on the outskirts of the valley. Suddenly he appeared at my side, as if out of nowhere, and followed me back into Rivendell." He paused to pat the stallion's side. "I have been to the stables of Rohan multiple times," he mused, "Never before have I seen this horse."

Maethoriel frowned. "But the tack.." she murmured.

"Exactly. It was a most strange meeting – I did not hear him approach; it was as if he just... appeared."

Maethoriel turned her bewildered expression to the horse. "Where did you come from?" she asked quietly, stroking his neck still. The stallion snorted and nodded his head several times. Maethoriel glanced at the sky, and when the horse went quiet, she suddenly understood. "Rhovanion sent you, didn't he?" she asked, smiling. The stallion gently nudged the side of her head in reply.

"Rhovanion of the Wild?" Gandalf clarified.

"Yes," she nodded. "He often sends steeds to emberlings in need of them."

"How?"

"Only he and his children know the answer to that, Gandalf. It is a dangerous aspect of the Stars; he has the ability to summon all kinds of creatures."

"I thought that stars did not have powers?" Gandalf frowned.

"We thought so too. However he came across this ability, we do not question, because it is not our place to do so."

He nodded thoughtfully and looked back at the stallion. "Do you know this horse?"

"If the stories are anything to go by, this may be one of Rhovanion's favourite steeds," she replied. "I believe his name is Sadron." The stallion snorted again and nuzzled her cheek, his warm breath tickling her smooth skin. Maethoriel grinned and looked up at the Night Sky. "You have my thanks, friend," she said.

In the comfortable silence that followed, Gandalf looked to Rivendell. "There are only a few hours left before dawn. It would be wise to set out now, while you can."

Maethoriel nodded and grasped his shoulder. "You have done me a great service this night, Mithrandir. I give you my most sincere thanks."

"You are most welcome," he replied, tilting his head respectively. "May Sadron bare you swiftly back to us, and may good fortune meet you on your quest."

"I will return as soon as I can," she promised, mounting Sadron with ease and grace. She looked down at Gandalf. "Until we next meet, wise one." With a kick to Sadron's sides, they lunged forward and were engulfed by the darkness around them.

* * *

Maethoriel had been searching the lands with her faithful companion for two weeks and three days, and still nothing could be found. The Black Riders seemed to have fled from that part of the world after they lost their steeds in the flood, and as she travelled further south she still could not find a recent trace of them. She met other travellers on the road who claimed they had seen cloaked figures passing through the wilderness at night; but that had been more than a week beforehand, so she assumed that the Riders had returned to their master, empty handed. She was no stranger to witnessing horrors; but, still, she did not want to imagine what was waiting for the Riders in that cruel, dark land.

For many long days and cautious nights they travelled southwards alongside the Misty Mountains, heading for the Gap of Rohan. Not only did Maethoriel have to watch for enemies; but she also had to ensure that none of her allies would chance upon her and insist for her to return to Rivendell. For a long time she remained cautious, until they came closer and closer to the land of Rohan, and then she became suspicious.

She knew from what her father had told her that Théoden had been possessed by Saruman, and so the King's land was susceptible to attack from the wizard's forces. The thought of thousands of innocent, defenceless families, unprotected by the one sworn to protect them, made Maethoriel incredibly uneasy and desperate to act. She longed to scour the lands and rid them of any foul being sent to destroy the people of Rohan; but her purpose was not to save one people – it was to save a World from decay and ruin. Her mind and heart fought on a daily basis, which served as distracting and irritating, therefore lessening her awareness of her surroundings.

One day, as it progressed into evening, Maethoriel and Sadron were standing individually by a small stream. They had been travelling for hours already, and had decided to take a well-deserved break to hydrate themselves. The amount of travellers was dwindling the closer they got to Rohan, which did nothing to quell the battle raging within Maethoriel's mind. She knelt on the muddy ground beside the stream and lay her hands in the bubbling water, feeling the cold seep through her skin into her bones. She wondered at how many families were forced to live in the wilderness as she was at that moment, and focused on the water rushing beneath her as if it would bring her an answer.

All she saw, however, was her own reflection. Her long black hair had been pulled into a pleat that ran down her back, and her smooth skin was dirtied from the amount of travelling they had done. Her mind drifted to what Legolas had said to her about her apparent beauty, and she frowned at herself. As far as she could see, there was nothing special there – save for the fact that she was an Emberling. And if she was nothing special, then how was she to ensure both Aragorn's survival, and the Ring's destruction? She had never been on a quest of her own before, and if she had ever left the Night Sky, it was never for anything incredibly dangerous, as she knew this was. She could die at any moment – right then and there next to that stream; perhaps the next day as she stopped to study a flower; or even the very last day of their quest, when all failed, or just she failed.

She did not know whether this thought strengthened her or weakened her.

Suddenly behind her she could hear several sets of heavy footfalls. She stood and whirled around, retrieving her bow and positioning an arrow. For a tense moment she waited, listening to the sounds of the footsteps and her own heart beating rapidly within her chest. Her wide, alert eyes darted around her surroundings, looking between and within trees for whoever might have been approaching her.

Then she saw them – a group of orcs trampling through the trees towards her. The leader's gaze had just landed on her, and its mouth opened to yell; but her arrow sailed and embedded itself within its neck, impeding it from doing so. The orcs stopped and scrambled for cover, shouting and yelling about their leader as she let loose a few more arrows, each of which hitting their mark with power and precision. As she went to get another arrow, there was another shout and the group burst out from the tree line, barrelling towards her.

She slid her bow onto her back again and took out her dagger and tomahawk, holding one in each hand as she readied herself for their attack. The first came at her, raising its weapon high above its head with a mighty battle cry. She dodged to the side as the weapon came down, and swung her tomahawk into the orc's back, pulling it towards her so she could stab her dagger into its throat. She ducked the next attack and hacked at the orc's legs, bringing it down to the ground where she stabbed it in the chest. Rolling forward out of the way, she heard the thump of another weapon hitting the ground where she had just been, and embedded her tomahawk within the orc in front of her, plunging her dagger into its stomach.

A rough, slimy hand gripped the back of her cloak when she stood up and threw her backwards, causing her to fall on her back. As the orc rushed at her, she kicked her leg up and knocked its weapon out of its hand, springing up again to dodge its lunge for her. With one downwards stroke, she chopped the orc's forearm off, and it let out a deafening yell, which she soon silenced.

There were only three orcs left, surrounding her with menacing snarls. Two sprung forward at the same time, stabbing at her. She blocked one with her tomahawk and spun to dodge the other, kicking one of the orcs' backs so that it collided into the other's chest and knocked it over. She raised her dagger above her head to block the downwards stroke of the third orc and slashed its stomach with her dagger, causing it to double over in pain, exposing its back. She brought her tomahawk down upon the bare skin and sent him to the ground, limp.

She turned to see one of the other orcs rushing at her, its companion lying on the ground with a gash in its shoulder – she assumed it was from when they fell together. Before she could react, a set of black hooves lashed out and hit the orc in the chest, sending it flying backwards. She threw her dagger into its chest and then moved to the last survivor, placing her tomahawk at its neck to stop it from moving.

The ugly creature looked up at her with pure rage and loathing over the loss of its group. She eyed him without pity and made a split-second decision. "Where are the Black Riders?"

Confusion contorted its features. "They are Sauron's servants," it growled. "I serve Saruman."

She pressed the blade of her tomahawk harder against its neck. "Where are they?"

"I don't know!" it snapped.

She sighed angrily, and ended its suffering.

She stood and walked to the orc behind her, removing her dagger from its chest. Her weapons were dripping with the blood of her enemies, and she had an unpleasant taste in her mouth from looking at them; but a quick wash in the stream fixed that problem and she turned to look at Sadron. He gazed at her almost knowingly, and nudged her upper arm when she approached him, inducing a dull throb of pain. Looking down, she saw that there was a minor gash in her skin.

She spared a moment to pat his neck, murmuring a thanks, before she went back to the stream to wash her wound. The action caused her much pain; but she knew that she would most likely be faced with wounds just as bad, or worse, than that in the days, weeks, and months to come, so she soldiered through it and kept her reactions to a minimum. Once it was clean, she ripped a piece of her tunic off and tied it around her wound, making sure it was tight enough before she mounted Sadron.

"It will be too dangerous to travel further into Rohan with packs of orcs roaming the land," she said to him, running her fingers through his mane. "And we have nothing on the Black Riders." She looked down at the scene of carnage laid out beside her – the lifeless orcs strewn across the blood-stained grass, staring upwards with unseeing eyes. It made her uneasy, to see such death and pain; but she knew it was the right thing to do. Killing those orcs meant that the lives of several families would continue for a little while longer. "Let us return to Rivendell," she said. Sadron set off at a brisk pace, eager to get away from the disturbing scene.

Maethoriel hoped that her wound would heal in time, so that Elrond would not have more reason to chastise her.

* * *

**So hopefully that wasn't too disappointing, considering how long y'all had to wait for it... I really am so bloody sorry about how long you had to wait; and to make things worse, shits getting even more intense at school:( I'll try my very best to get new chapters out to you when I can, but I'm afraid you're gonna have to wait a while with this story. I mean, you would anyway cause there are three bits to it, but you know what I mean.**

**If you could review and tell me what you think, that would be amazing. I need to know if I've still got this whole 'writing a fanfic' thing going on, or if my writing's gone to shit.**


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